


and then there was a baby

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Children, Domestic, Family, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek stumbles into the nursery, takes in Stiles standing at the window holding their tearful baby. It’s almost enough to make his heart seize up with joy. Even if it is three am and neither of them have slept in days. It's still his <i>family</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whale Songs

When they bring Jamie home from the hospital they end up sleeping on the floor of the nursery for three days. Derek’s deeply grateful Lydia insisted on the expensive, soft carpet. Somehow, he becomes a mattress for Stiles, and the tiny ball of fluff on his chest. 

Jamie cries, a _lot_. To start with he worries that it’s them. The Sheriff _laughs_ when Stiles voices a similar concern and they both glare at him. 

He holds Jamie out in front of him, smiling dotingly. “Welcome to parenthood, kids.”

“Words of wisdom,” Stiles drawls. “Thanks, dad.”

Derek steals a hand up the back of his t-shirt, strokes his lower back soothingly. 

“He likes you just fine,” the Sheriff says, rolling his eyes and carrying Jamie out of the room. “But, he’ll like me more because I’ll never make him do homework, or wash the dishes.”

“That is… immensely unfair,” Stiles huffs.

“Grandparent’s right,” the Sheriff declares. 

“Well,” Stiles says soberly, looking down at his three day old shirt and then up at Derek’s scruff. “Here we go.”

*

“’S’okay, little guy, shush, shush, daddy’s got you.”

Derek stumbles into the nursery, takes in Stiles standing at the window holding their tearful baby. It’s almost enough to make his heart seize up with joy. Even if it is three am and neither of them have slept in days. It's still his _family_.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s just cranky cos he had a bad dream right, babycakes?”

Jamie lets out a high pitched sound of distress and Stiles hushes him again, swaying backwards and forwards.

Derek slides an arm around Stiles’ waist, drags him back towards the bedroom as he makes soft, soothing noises at Jamie. He settles with his back against the headboard and pulls Stiles into the vee of his legs, Jamie resting on Stiles’ chest.

Jamie makes a noise of content as he pats Derek’s face over Stiles’ shoulder.

“See? We’re all here, we’re all fine, we’re not going anywhere,” he promises quietly.

Somewhere around dawn Jamie drops off and Derek manoeuvres a sleepy Stiles onto his side, sets Jamie gently between them.

“No, could squash him,” Stiles slurs.

“Be fine,” Derek promises, throwing his arm over Stiles’ hip and loosely caging Jamie in. Jamie snuffles, rolls across the mattress and settles in against Derek’s chest. Stiles’ eyes droop shut and he sighs, wiggles closer to them both.

Derek isn’t planning on sleeping at all when he has this to watch over.

*

The Sheriff’s in the middle of thanking everyone for coming when Jamie starts choking. He’s been sitting on Isaac’ knee; happy and content, when suddenly his face gets panicked and Derek leaps up. Stiles is there before him, turning Jamie over and slapping him sharply on the back. The chilli he’s picked up instead of cucumber falls from his mouth and he lets out a wail.

“Oh, I know little man,” Stiles says looking horrified and holding him close. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s gone, you’re okay.”

He heads towards the exit, Derek hot on his heels as the rest of the table peer after them in concern.

Derek takes Jamie and Stiles stands numbly in front of them.

“Very ambitious of you,” Derek croaks, rubbing Jamie’s back. “Even granddad doesn’t touch those things.”

Jamie sobs into his shirt and Stiles stuffs his shaky hands in his pockets, hovering in front of them.

“Is he—shit, Derek did I hurt him?”

“No, he’s fine, you did exactly the right thing.”

“I’ve never— _Jesus_.”

Derek puts one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, stroking the soft hair there.

“He’s fine, it’s okay. He was just shocked.”

“He nearly—”

“But he didn’t.”

Stiles lets out a breath and Jamie seems to perk up, realizing he’s fine and that the nasty thing in his mouth is gone, that both his parents are here. He tugs on Stiles’ hair and Stiles smiles shakily at him.

“You’re worse than your dad at scaring me,” he mutters, grabbing Jamie’s hand.

Jamie gurgles, right as rain once again, beaming at them both. Stiles snorts, leans against Derek and they’re fine, they’re okay.

Stiles refuses to eat at Malabar for eight years afterwards. Derek still orders from them once in a while; he really likes their chicken korma.

*

“Higher!”

“Stiles, it’s supposed to be the toddler that yells that.”

Stiles whips his head round, grins at Derek. “So?”

Derek rolls his eyes, pushes against Stiles’ back and Stiles swings his legs up into the air, Jamie shrieking happily on his lap.

“Ultimate flying machine! We’re gonna touch the sky!”

Stiles staggers off the swing a few minutes later and Jamie runs across the bark, heading for the seesaw.

“Good pushing, coco pops. Seems I’ve got a reason to keep you around still,” Stiles says with a smirk, wrapping his arms round Derek’s waist. “My big strong werewolf.”

“I don’t know which part of that I resent most.”

“None of it, just be happy I dig you so much.”

Derek narrows his eyes at him as they follow Jamie through the playground.

“Dig me?”

“Sure, you know, you tickle my fancy, I want a piece of that, wanna ride that so hard I fall off and don’t regret a thing.”

“I don’t know why I’m attracted to you.”

“Yeah, you do,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows and kisses him before shooting away, chasing Jamie. “Run from the terrifying daddy monster!”

Jamie yells, hides behind Derek’s legs, pulling at his jeans excitedly.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Stiles drawls, peeking over Derek’s shoulder at Jamie and Jamie laughs, squirms between Derek’s legs. Stiles drops to a crouch. “Boo!”

Derek reaches down and sweeps Jamie up into the air. “You’ll never get him alive!”

He swings Jamie onto his shoulders and takes off across the bark.

“Cheating!” Stiles cries indignantly when Derek leaps to the top of the slide without using the stairs.

Derek smirks down at him. “So?”

*

“Hey,” Stiles bangs into the kitchen, noise disappearing as the door slams shut.

Derek hums, brow furrowed in concentration as he places the two candles.

“You got a little—” Stiles leans forward and kisses Derek’s cheek, arms winding round his back. “Mmm, sugary.”

“Are you here to help, or lick my face?”

“I can do both, if that’s what you’re into?”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him, shoves the lighter at him. “You wanna do the honors?”

“Got the camera?”

He digs around under the wrapping paper and balloons covering the kitchen table, pulls out the Nikon triumphantly.

“Sweet, got your pipes ready?”

“I’ll sing as loudly as you do,” Derek offers with a toothy grin.

Stiles scowls. “No one wants to hear me sing.”

“You sing all the time—there was a resounding rendition of _What’s Going On_ in the shower just this morning,” Derek pauses at the door, shrugs. “I like your voice, _Jamie_ likes your voice.”

“Fine,” Stiles takes a breath. “Just so you know, tomorrow I will be singing something ridiculously romantic to you for being sweet even when you don’t mean to be.”

“I’ll be sure to brace myself.”

“As long as you can brace me, too,” Stiles smirks before pushing the door open and breaking into song. Jamie looks ecstatic.

*

“Da!” Jamie sticks his hand up at Derek, and Derek pulls him onto his lap, peers at his hand.

“What’s up?”

“Hurts,” Jamie says tearfully.

Derek frowns, rubs his fingers carefully over the skin. “Ah ha! I know the problem,” he gives Jamie a stern look. “We’re going to have to cut your whole hand off.”

Jamie shrieks, squirms in an attempt to break free of Derek’s arms and Derek pulls Jamie’s Buzz Lightyear pj top over his hand. “See? All gone.”

“Da, no!”

“You’ve just a splinter,” Derek explains, standing and carrying him over to the counter, popping him on top of it. “We can get rid of it in no time.”

Jamie bangs his feet against the cupboard, face serious and so remarkably like Stiles’ it makes Derek ache in all the sweet ways he once thought didn’t exist.

“Here we go, okay, deep breath cos this is gonna sting a little.” He dabs antiseptic across Jamie’s palm and Jamie yells, tries to draw his hand away. “It’ll only  hurt for a minute I promise, I’m sorry. Hey, tell me about the whales you were looking at earlier.”

He’s hoping to distract Jamie from the fact he’s going to have to pick out the splinter. He knew he should have re-varnished the floor in the den.

“Orca whales live in the water,” Jamie says knowledgeably.

“Yeah? Do they swim?”

“Uh huh, and Blue Whales have a pod.”

“They have a pod? Or they travel in a pod?”

Jamie thinks about the question as Derek inches out the splinter.

“Travel, in the water.”

“Yeah, it’s like their very own pack, right?”

“Not like us,” Jamie says crossly. “We don’t live underwater.”

“True,” Derek says apologetically. “But, we have a family, a pack, like they do. You, me, daddy, we’re a pack, and then there’s Uncle Isaac and Uncle Boyd, and Aunt Lydia, Scott, Allison, Erica.”

“Jackson! Jackson is pack,” Jamie says excitedly.

“I guess,” Derek says begrudgingly. He will never understand his kid’s fascination with Jackson. He absolutely lights up when Jackson’s around, follows him from room to room, makes Jackson read him stories, set the iPad up so they can watch Whale videos.

“Do mine ears deceive me or is that the sound of jealousy I hear?” Stiles sweeps into the kitchen, dumping the mail on the table.

“No,” Derek huffs. “Why does it have to be _Jackson_ , though?!”

“Da-da,” Jamie waves his hand in the air. “I got a splinter.”

Stiles’ face goes concerned and he comes round the table. “Oh, no, little dude, how’d you do that?”

“Playing,” Jamie says with a shrug, preening as Stiles kisses his face and ruffles his hair.

“Yeah? Does it hurt? Is daddy fixing it?”

“Uh huh, ‘s’okay now.”

Derek sticks a dinosaur Band-Aid on the cut skin and kisses it. “Better?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Welcome.”

Jamie holds up his arms and Derek lifts him off the counter, helping him to the floor. “You want some juice?”

“Nah.”

“No, thank you,” Stiles corrects, chucking the cotton wool in the garbage.

“No, thank you,” Jamie yells, running off towards the den again.

Stiles turns to Derek, clutches his hands together. “You big hero, you.”

“Shut up,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. “How was work?”

“Usual,” Stiles sniffs. “Ohh, did you put dinner on and everything?”

“It’s just chicken.”

“My perfect housewife,” Stiles teases.

Derek pushes him against the wall, leans in to brush his nose against Stiles’ neck where he smells less like loud, obnoxious citizens and the stale sheriff department break room, and more of home, of Derek and of Jamie; of pack, the most important things in Derek’s life all wrapped up in Stiles’ scent.

“Call me that again,” he palms the front of Stiles’ pants. “I dare you.”

Stiles shudders against him, clears his throat. “My perfect house Derek?”

Derek pulls away smirking. “Have fun jerking off alone in the shower later.”

“Oh, come on!”

*

“And then the witch flew away on her broomstick, leaving a trail of stars and rainbows behind, and she lived happily ever after.”

Derek raises an eyebrow as Stiles finishes, Jamie snuggled between them.

“Rainbows and stars at the same time?”

“’S’my story, there can be both.”

“Sure.”

Stiles reaches over Jamie and jabs a finger into Derek’s neck. “Fuck you,” he mouths.

Derek rolls his eyes, eases off Jamie’s bed and starts picking up toys. He has no idea where half of them have come from, but the plush looking dragon is definitely from Jackson.

It’s like the guy is purposely trying to make _Derek’s_ kid like him more than Derek. He’s tempted to hide the damn thing.

Stiles snorts like he knows what Derek’s thinking. “You wanna ‘lose’ that one?”

“No,” Derek sighs. “He’d be upset about it.”

Stiles gets up carefully, comes and wraps his arms round Derek’s waist, kisses the back of his neck. “You’re a really good dad, Derek.”

Derek swallows, looks down at the dragon and then at where Stiles’ hands are stroking his stomach casually, Jamie’s breathing in the background.

“I—yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tosses the dragon in with the rest of the toys in Jamie’s star chest, and rolls his shoulders, turns to look at Stiles. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re still taking the trash out, though.”

“Ugh,” Stiles glares at him. “Fine, the things I do for love,” he says loftily, sauntering out of the room.

When Derek next wakes up, Stiles is plastered against his chest and Jamie’s sitting at the foot of the bed, playing with the two plastic whales he picked up when they went to the aquarium for Stiles’ birthday.

“You good, kiddo?” He asks sleepily.

Jamie clambers up the sheet, balances the whales on his head. “Daddy Whale.”

Stiles snickers beside him. Derek just grins up at his kid. “Yeah, okay.”

 


	2. New Territory

“Are you sure he won’t get lost?”

Derek arches an eyebrow at him, “In the yard?”

Stiles bites at his lip, “What if a wild fox gets in and tries to eat him?”

“Stiles, this whole neighborhood smells like wolf territory; there are no foxes dumb enough to come looking for young toddlers to eat here.”

Jamie appears, struggling with his coat and looks up at them both expectantly. “Can’t do it,” he says, gesturing to the zipper.

Derek drops down to pull the zip up for him.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Derek murmurs, kissing the top of his head before straightening up, and opening the back door. “Ready?”

Jamie nods, face lighting up with glee.

“Don’t try and climb the tree,” Stiles says firmly. Jamie nods back with big, earnest eyes and Derek resists the urge to laugh. Jamie is _so_ going to try and climb the huge oak tree at the bottom of their yard. His tiny arms won’t even wrap halfway round the trunk, but he’s still going to try. And they’ll watch from the window just in case.

“Okay,” Stiles says dolefully, “Go play.”

Jamie races out of the door and into the back yard, and Stiles gnaws on one of his fingernails watching him go.

“Are you getting separation anxiety from our kid being ten feet away?” Derek asks teasingly, eyes still fixed on Jamie in his bright blue coat toddling across the lawn.

“No,” Stiles elbows him. “And like you can talk seeing as you would have stuck a tracking device on me while I was at college if you could have.”

“College is dangerous,” Derek says unapologetically, “Our back yard is not.”

“Dad! Dad!”

They both jerk to attention and twist to see Jamie waving a hand. Derek sprints across the grass, heart pounding with Stiles close behind.

“Knew we should have got a playpen,” Stiles mutters.

Derek drops to the ground next to Jamie, eyes searching over him, even though he can’t sense any pain. “You okay, buddy?”

“Look,” Jamie says excitedly, pointing at the grass. Stiles sees what Jamie’s pointing at first, and starts laughing hysterically because it’s a fucking snail. His kid almost gave him a heart attack over a slimy mollusc. He feels his knees give and he sits down, stretching his legs round Jamie who continues happily following the snail’s slow trail. Stiles stretches out over Derek’s back, winds his arms round his neck.

“Still think the yard isn’t dangerous?”

“Of course,” Derek huffs. “He’s fine.”

Stiles’ hand dances over where Derek’s heart is still pounding.

“Okay,” he says, grinning against Derek’s cheek. “Liar.”

“Shut up,” Derek sighs, lacing their hands together and watching Jamie pick up the snail and squeal, dropping it again in disgust. “Maybe we could fence off a little bit right in front of the kitchen window.”

“’S’good idea,” Stiles muses. “’Till he realizes he can climb over the fence.”

“We’ll make it six feet tall.”

“ _Now_   who’s being ridiculous?”

“We could get him a sandpit.”

“He’d love that,” Stiles twists to look at him over his shoulder. “Look at you with your smart ideas.”

Derek narrows his eyes at him. “Maybe I can bury you in it, right up to your head.”

“Nah, who would make dinner?”

“I can cook.”

“You can heat stuff up.”

“I—I’ll make dinner tonight,” Derek decides.

“From scratch?”

“Yep, and it’ll be fucking delicious.”

“The entire dinner? And dessert?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Sucker,” Stiles murmurs quietly.

Derek turns incredulously, and their noses bump together. “Asshole!”

Stiles’ smile is blinding as he leaps up. “You’re the one who wants to make dinner, I’m not complaining about that.”

“You set me up!”

“Yep,” Stiles walks backwards across the grass to Jamie, smirking at him, “You should know better by now, baby.”

Derek doesn’t actually have an issue with making dinner for his family, but, on principle he chases after Stiles to make him yell. He catches up to him, leans them up against the oak and kisses him. “You’re washing up.”

“Deal,” Stiles breathes, “And you can get your own dessert later.”

Derek kinks an eyebrow at him, “You promise not to fall asleep on me?”

“That was one time, one time!”

He grins, strokes a hand across Stiles’ stomach, “S’okay, I understand you haven’t got the stamina you used to. I still love you.”

Stiles jabs a finger in the side of his neck, “And, I _hate_ you.”

“I know,” he smirks, ducking to kiss Stiles’ hand before turning away to help Jamie collect leaves.

*

Derek pulls his coat up higher around his neck and then tightens his grip on the pushchair. “I knew it was going to rain,” he mutters.

Stiles turns to beam at him, raindrops clinging to his eyelashes and face soaking. He’s constantly taking Derek’s breath away in the strangest ways. Though, Stiles wet through is unsurprisingly never something that fails to leave Derek breathless. It’s more the fact he’s doing it in the middle of a damn rain storm on the way to the shops that’s unusual. If Derek had had his way they would never have stepped out the front door. They could be warm and dry, relaxing on the sofa with Jamie pushing around his trains on the floor beside them. But, no, Stiles is insistent on Jamie getting his fresh air every day, and though Derek isn’t exactly objectionable to his kid being outside, it’s fucking pouring.

“Cheer up, buttercup, we’re nearly there,” Stiles squeezes his hand and then ducks to look at Jamie through the protective plastic over his seat. “Y’alright in there, baby-o?”

Jamie waves excitedly and goes back to trying to count rain drops. He can get to five easily, but six still remains a mystery to him. He can recognize the numbers written down, but he’ll still give Derek a dozen plastic animals instead of the requested six. It’s a work in progress. Both he and Stiles are thorough with their research as to where Jamie should be with developing his logical reasoning skills; and it’s a great source of pride that their kid’s a little ahead of the curve.

Their kid is perfect, if Derek’s honest. He’s sure all parents think that, but he doesn’t care because Jamie actually _is_. He’s smart already; Derek can see him thinking through his answers before he gives them. He can see how hard he fights to pronounce words correctly. The stories he makes up, and demands Derek and Stiles take part in, are detailed and complex. Though, Jackson still ends up playing the prince far more than Derek or Stiles. Stiles finds it _hilarious_ when Derek tries to argue for the villain to win, and to beat Jackson for once. Jamie doesn’t stand for it. He gives Derek this long  _judgemental_  stare he’s totally copied from Stiles until Derek sighs and lets Jackson defeat him. Jackson always looks particularly pleased when he stands over Derek, and it takes everything Derek has not to knee him in the balls.

Stiles shivers slightly and Derek untangles their hand to throw his arm round Stiles’ shoulders.

“It’s your own fault you’re cold,” he points out.

The hand Stiles isn’t using to hold the other pushchair handle slithers round Derek’s waist, brushes against his skin and makes him jump.

“ _And_ I’m _super_ lucky to have such a nice, caring other half to remind me of these things,” Stiles drawls, digging his cold fingers into Derek’s side.

“Ah, Stiles!”

“Hand slipped.”

Derek narrows his eyes at him, shaking off the rain as they step inside the supermarket.

Jamie’s squawking excitedly as Stiles pushes back the plastic and bends down to say hi, plucking him from his seat and settling him on his hip. “You wanna get a cart?”

“Can I go in it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Are you for sale?”

“No!” Jamie looks outraged. “I’m yours.”

“So long as you remember that,” Stiles pops him in the cart as Derek ditches the pushchair against the wall. “And, if someone tries to buy you, yell, and your dad will eat them.”

“Stiles!”

Jamie _loves_ it when Derek makes wolf faces for him; runs around the house shrieking and making Derek leap over the furniture pretending to chase him. They’ve been teaching him about the difference between games between their pack, and situations in the real world. Though, Derek suspects it’ll take a few more years before he fully grips the werewolf situation.

“I was talking about me,” Stiles bares his teeth and pretends to gnaw on Jamie’s arm. Jamie howls in delight and bats at Stiles’ face. Stiles comes up holding his nose. “Ouch.”

“That’ll teach you for pretending to eat the baby,” Derek says primly.

“I could pretend to eat you instead,” Stiles suggests, nipping at Derek’s chin as they stroll down the first aisle. Derek pushes at his shoulder, shaking his head. "Maybe we could play at a little less pretend eating you, later."

Derek coughs loudly, feels hot under the collar as Stiles runs a hand up his back, fingers teasing at the top of his jeans.

“You’re insatiable, _and_ ridiculous,” he manages finally.

“And _you_ are filled with wonderful compliments about me, as ever,” Stiles says easily, letting go of him to grab pasta and rice, tossing them in the cart.

“What do _you_ want for dinner, mister?” Derek asks, leaning over the handle to look at Jamie.

Jamie thinks about it for a second before pointing at a box of tacos, “That.”

“Mexican!” Stiles says excitedly. “You got good taste, kid.” He ruffles Jamie’s hair and goes to grab the box. The cart lurches forward, Derek simultaneously shooting out a hand to grab at it, and at the back of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles comes back down with the box and smiles at him. “My hero.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “I don’t know how you’re still alive.”

“Because I have you, duh,” Stiles replies airily, pushing the cart on and letting Jamie throw random packs of jelly cubes inside.

*

He’s not ready for this. Jamie’s bouncing up and down in his seat, Stiles quiet beside him. Wordlessly, Derek lets go of the wheel and takes Stiles’ hand. Stiles laces their fingers together, squeezes tightly.

They pull up at the gate and Jamie’s already trying to squirm out of his seat. Scott and Allison are lingering by their own car, Alexander banging on the window and yelling at Jamie through the glass. Stiles sits still for a moment, not looking at his best friend, or Derek, staring straight ahead.

“’S’just two days a week,” Derek says softly, voice quiet enough that Scott won’t hear.

Stiles turns to look at him, bites his lip before nodding. “I love you,” he says simply. "You always know just what to say."

Derek smiles back at him before they untangle their hands and Stiles leaps from the car, “Ready to go, sugarpie?”

Jamie bashes his legs against his car seat as Derek unbuckles it, wriggles out of his arms to race over to where Alex is out of his own seat. They shove at each other enthusiastically, and Allison reminds them both to be gentle.

“Yo,” Scott says mournfully.

“Yo,” Stiles replies.

Allison laughs, “Oh my god, they’re going to _nursery_ , not to war. Honestly,  _men_ ,” she adds before herding the boys towards where all the other noisy, over exuberant kids are swarming.

Derek wrinkles his nose at them all. None of them look remotely smart, or interesting.

“Stop judging the three year olds,” Stiles murmurs in his ear.

Derek huffs, “They just better not mess with him.”

“You’ve already told him to be his own man, Derek. I’m pretty sure he’s probably deciding which kid’s lunch money he’s gonna take; after the speech you gave him last night.”

“I just want him to be prepared,” Derek retorts hotly.

“I know,” Stiles soothes, “And, no one’s going to beat him up, or make him cry. If they do, they’ll deal with me,” he adds in a steely voice.

“And, you say I’m bad,” Derek grumbles.

“Dad!” Jamie races back towards them and they both bend to his height.

Stiles strokes a finger across Jamie’s cheek, “You okay, babycakes?”

Jamie nods, his big, brown eyes looking doubtful, “Lots o’ people.”

“Yeah, but you can make lots of friends,” Stiles promises. “And, Alex will be right there, too. You like Alex, remember?”

Jamie looks unconvinced for a moment and Derek resists the urge to snort because  _like father like son_ with the McCall clan.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Stiles says firmly, elbowing Derek like he knows what Derek’s thinking. “And, you won’t want to come home, and we’ll have to carry you out kicking and screaming!” He makes a horrified face and Jamie laughs, buries his face shyly in Stiles’ neck.

Derek runs a hand down his little back, shifts closer so that Jamie’s surrounded by them.

“You’re okay,” he says softly. “Don’t be scared, everyone will be nice.”

Which, he knows isn’t true, but his kid will sure as hell believe it for as long as possible. And when he runs into anyone less than nice Derek will teach him how to deal with them. Of that he’s certain—he’s also pretty sure Stiles won’t protest.

Jamie pulls back, suddenly looking determined. “Bye,” he says quickly before running back over to where Alex is clinging to Scott’s leg, and starts tugging at his hand.

“That looks like a familiar scene,” Derek muses. Stiles coughs beside him, shakes his head as he smiles ruefully at Derek.

“Actually, it was Scott that dragged me into nursery.”

“Scott was bossy?”

“Scott _is_ bossy,” Stiles corrects.

“Maybe with you,” Derek replies smugly.

Stiles rolls his eyes and wraps his arms round Derek’s waist as they watch Jamie disappear inside with one last wave.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles mutters, “Now, what do we do?”

“Laundry,” Derek suggests, “Then sex.”

“Priorities,” Stiles says drily, following Derek back to the car, “My man has them.”

*

The drive back from the hospital is possibly worse than the drive there. Derek knows, instinctively Stiles is okay. He knows he’s fine. He’s touched him all over, he’s smelt it, he can _feel_ it. But, his hands are still gripping the steering wheel like it might break, and he still feels like he’s about to fall apart.

It wasn’t even a bad fall, but Derek wasn’t there. Stiles had been climbing down from the roof,  missed a step and dropped to the bottom. Derek had been upstairs trying to talk Jamie into taking a bath, had heard the yell, the hitch in Stiles’ heartbeat, and then the sickening thud. For a moment his whole world had twisted and he’d told Jamie to stay in his room, leaped down the stairs and been outside in three seconds. Stiles had been splayed out on the gravel of their drive, and Derek will never forget the way he looked; broken and hurt and, _fuck_ , if he’d fallen at a different angle, or Derek hadn’t even been there.

“I’m okay, you know,” Stiles mumbles softly from the backseat where he’s sitting next to Jamie.

And, he is; twisted ankle, bruised ribs, sore head. That’s it. Of all the crap they went through when they were younger, everything they survived, Stiles falls off a _ladder_ and Derek nearly loses _everything_.

“I know,” he says quietly, meeting Stiles’ eyes in the rear view mirror before swallowing and looking away again. He can’t. He can’t lose this.

He sets the sleeping Jamie in his bed, carries Stiles upstairs—much to Stiles’ chagrin– props him up on the pillows before sitting on the edge of the bed and just _looking_ at him. Stiles looks back steadily, and he knows he’s waiting for Derek to break. He’s not going to. He’s not fucking breakable, he can’t be. He needs to stay strong, to keep everyone safe, to—

“There is literally _no_ way you could have prevented me from falling off that ladder, Derek.”

“You need to be more careful,” he hisses.

“I was clearing leaves, not trying to jump from the roof into a pool!”

“I could do the leaves easily.”

“I didn’t need you to do it, I wanted to do it! I’m twenty nine years old, Derek. I can do my own DIY on my own house, thank you very much.”

Derek sighs, squeezes his eyes shut. “I know,” he says finally. “But, I’m thirty four, and I don’t know how to function properly without you, anymore.”

“Well, that makes us terribly co-dependent,” Stiles says with a sigh.

“I don’t care,” Derek insists stubbornly. “You need to be alive forever.”

Stiles laughs. “Boo, I got news for you about mortals—”

“Stiles! Just agree, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says softly, patting the bed for Derek to come closer.

Slowly, Derek climbs over the covers, settles next to Stiles’ good side and wraps a hand in his shirt. They lie in silence for a while, and he focuses on Stiles’ heartbeat, lets every clear thud of it wash over him.

Jamie appears looking sleepy half an hour later. He was a golden child at the hospital, held Derek’s hand and sat in total silence, as though understanding his daddy was freaking out and he needed to behave. Derek is so fucking  _lucky_ with his family.

“Da?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says dozily. “You ‘kay?”

“Mmm.” Jamie clambers up the bed, settles in-between them. He prods Derek’s face, “Don’t be sad, dad.”

“I’m not,” he replies quietly, “I’m happy.”

“Everything’s a okay,” Jamie parrots a phrase he’s heard Stiles use.

Derek smiles at him, nods and pulls Jamie close. “Yeah, it is.”


	3. Princesses

Jamie looks down at the pile of blankets encasing his new baby sister, and scrunches up his nose. “I don’t like her,” he declares.

Derek snorts, rubs his back soothingly, “That’ll change.”

“It will,” Stiles agrees, “I mean, I said the same thing about your dad the first time we met, and look how that turned out!”

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles bends his fingers together into a heart shape and points at Derek with a wink. Derek rolls his eyes harder, shaking his head and then glancing back at Jamie.

Their son’s blinking up at Stiles dubiously, glancing between them and the baby.

The _baby_.

Derek has _two_ children. There are now _two_ tiny people that are Derek’s responsibility. Sometimes, he has to remind himself to put pants on before he goes out front to get the paper; some days all he wants to do is fuck around with Stiles on the couch; he still dips his Oreos in milk—much to Stiles’ chagrin (crumbs in the milk and that); he builds forts with Jamie and watches Tangled on repeat because Jamie finds Maximus hilarious. He really wasn’t expecting parenthood, _adulthood_ , to be a good thing when he was eighteen, and yet, here he is, looking at Jamie’s dark head of hair as he threads his fingers through Derek’s, swinging his arm bashfully as he considers his day old sister.

Derek cannot _begin_ to parse how he got so lucky.

“Is she going to be bigger than me?”

Stiles laughs, hauls Jamie up onto his hip—wincing a little considering at five and a half, Jamie’s getting pretty big, already—and  shrugs at him.

“So, what if she is? You’re the oldest, you’re her big brother, you gotta look out for her, even if she grows to be ten feet tall.”

Jamie’s eyes go round and serious, and he plays with the collar of Stiles’ shirt for a second, “What if she doesn’t want me to?”

Stiles glances at Derek, gaze warm, “I think she’ll be really pleased to have someone looking out for her, sugar. Even if she pretends not to for a while.”

Derek hums his agreement, and Jamie looks between them, “Promise?”

“I promise.” Stiles nudges Jamie’s nose with his own, arches an eyebrow, “You wanna hold her?”

Jamie nods eagerly, and clambers off Stiles and towards the crib making grabby hands.

“Alrighty,” Stiles’ voice is coming out a little strangled as they crowd round Jamie, and Derek can see his eyes shining. He slides a hand under Stiles’ shirt, squeezes his hip gently. “Okay,” Stiles nods at him, clears his throat, “Jamie, this is Leah, not named after the Star Wars princess because your dad is a spoilsport. But, because the name is pretty—”

“You sort of got your way,” Derek pinches his hip.

“Yeah, funny what happens when you’re not concentrating,” Stiles smirks at him.

“There was a very good reason for that,” Derek retorts, lifting his eyebrows significantly and enjoying the way Stiles’ heartbeat stutters and his cheeks go pink. Even after ten years together, it still makes his stomach flip thinking about Stiles, and he always enjoys the chance to see Stiles have a similar reaction.

“Not in front of the _children_ ,” Stiles hisses, elbowing him in the chest. “This is a serious moment, Derek.”

“Of course,” Derek nods, face grave, “Nothing says formal and important like bringing your daughter home from hospital in a t-shirt with a picture of the Hulk on the front.”

“This was the only thing clean!”

“Can I hold her, yet?” Jamie interrupts, little hand clutching at the side of the crib, and both of them leap to attention.

“Sure,” Derek sits down on the bed, pulls Jamie into his lap and Stiles gently lifts Leah from her basket.

“You gotta be very careful, munchkin, okay?”

Jamie nods, expression set with a determination so similar to Stiles’ Derek feels his chest expand with love; actual, bona fide, _this is his family and they’re fucking beautiful_ , love.

“You got her?” he asks quietly, gazing down over Jamie’s head at Leah’s sleeping face.

“She’s very small,” Jamie states.

Stiles laughs, sits up on his knees to hover in front of them, runs a finger down Leah’s face. “She’s only a day old, she’s got lots of growing to do.”

“When will she get big?”

Derek hums, rests his chin on Jamie’s shoulder, “Well, it took your dad a pretty long time to get tall, she might take after him.”

“Hey!” Stiles flicks his ear, “I was a slow bloomer!”

“And all the more beautiful for it,” Derek teases, smirking back at him.

Stiles huffs, and Leah makes a muted noise, opens her eyes. For a second, none of them breathe, and Derek can hear Jamie’s heart thudding excitedly, Stiles’ racing as he watches his children, and Leah’s; new to his ears, but wonderful already.

Leah begins to wail and Jamie blanches, holds her up at Stiles, “I don’t wanna hold her anymore.”

Stiles grins, takes Leah from his arms and swoops her up onto his shoulder, swaying round the bedroom. “’S’okay, kiddo, when you first came home you didn’t stop crying for days! Don’t take it personally.”

Jamie eyes Leah with trepidation, “Is she going to cry a lot?”

“Um,” Stiles pulls a _help me_ face at Derek.

“Let’s go play trains for a bit,” Derek suggests, popping Jamie on his feet and standing with him. “We can come back to see Leah in a while.”

“Oh, sure, leave me with the crying infant,” Stiles murmurs loftily, as he makes hushing noises at Leah.

Derek smirks, gestures to his ears, “These are delicate.”

“Well,” Stiles kinks an eyebrow, “That they are, and cute, and small and—”

“Alright, I get it,” Derek scowls at him, and Stiles winks, makes a kissy face before turning it to Leah. Leah makes a noise of surprise, and Stiles laughs, kissing her cheek.

Derek can’t even stay mad.

*

Stiles wades through the sea of six year old princesses shrieking with delight around the jewellery table. Lydia’s in her element showing two young ladies how to twist their hair into braids around their mini tiaras. In the corner, Scott’s letting his daughter and a friend plait his hair and casually trying to prevent another little lady from drawing bright pink cheeks on his face with permanent marker pen. When he catches Stiles’ eye he makes a desperate help me face, and Stiles clambers over a pile of chiffon and drops down beside her. 

“Hey, Casey, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“How about instead of drawing on Scotty here, you come with me and we do some murals?”

Casey gives him a considering look, and then nods. 

“Fantastic!” Stiles stands, winces a little at the head rush and straightens his paper crown. “Damn.”

“Feeling your age, bro?”

Stiles scrunches up his nose at Scott, “Shut up, unless you want some pretty pink doll patches on those cheeks of yours for the rest of time?”

“You don’t look a day over twenty five,” Scott says quickly. 

“Nice try,” Stiles knocks his friend’s knee with his foot and then takes Casey’s hand, “Shall we?”

Once he has Casey settled, he makes for the kitchen where Allison has Jamie and Alex on the kitchen counter, and is watching over them as they put candles on the cake.

“Careful,” she says softly, “Don’t squish the cake.”

“How we doin’?” Stiles smacks a kiss to the top of Jamie’s head, sidles around them both to grab his beer and take a long pull. Jesus, kids are so enthusiastic and loud and exuberant—he’s not sure how his dad coped with him all those years. He feels like he’s aged ten years in one afternoon.

“Good,” Allison says breezily, dusting her hands off. “We had a little wobble with a crushed sword earlier.”

Alex dolefully lifts his plastic sword up, and Stiles can see a crease in the middle.

“Dude, no! What happened?”

“Fell on it,” Alex sighs.

“That’s okay,” Stiles pats his shoulder, “I can get you a new one! We bought like fifty in preparation for the J-Man’s birthday.”

Jamie beams at him, waves his own sword in the air, “Look, dad! Mine’s not broken.”

“Nice one, sunshine,” Stiles holds up his hand for Jamie to slap a neat high five onto. He makes for the pantry, grabbing the packet of swords (they bought ten packets, two for one, made for a very strange shopping cart), and brandishing one in the air.

“Ah ha! My trusty blade,” he sweeps into a bow with it, before holding it up to Alex. “Be careful,” he adds in a warning tone.

Behind him, Allison snorts.

“Hey, what was that?”

“I saw you and Scott messing with those things earlier, it’s a wonder neither of you took an eye out.”

“I object to you implying Scott would dare hurt a hair on my head, especially seeing as Derek’d be there to avenge my death.”

Derek hip checks the kitchen door open, Leah in his arms and his own paper crown slipping over his eyes.

Stiles snickers, leans up to straighten it for him, “Speak of the devil.”

“Who you callin’ a devil?”

“You, duh,” Stiles kisses him and takes the baby, “But, you, _you_ look like a princess, baby. This your first dress of the day still? You haven’t thrown up once? Atta girl!”

Leah squeals when he lifts her up above his head, and in the background Derek waves a hand across his neck, “Stiles, she just ate—”

Leah lands safely back in Stiles’ arms, and promptly throws up all over his shirt.

“Ah,” he grimaces, “Partying a little too hard for the little one, I guess,” he winks at Jamie and Alex, both of whom are making grossed out faces. “Hey,” he points at Jamie, “You used to do this, too.”

“Not much anymore,” Jamie sniffs, jumping off the counter and practically sauntering out of the room, Alex hot on his heels.

“Wow, he sounds just like you when he’s pleased about something,” Stiles tells Derek.

“Impossible,” Derek retorts drily, “I’m never pleased about anything.”

Stiles grins stupidly at him as Derek reclaims Leah in order for Stiles to change his shirt.

“I’ve seen you look pleased a couple of times,” he says smugly, whipping off his shirt and tossing it towards the laundry basket in the corner.

Derek hums, eyes flitting between Leah biting at his finger, and Stiles’ chest.

“Did you guys wanna do the cake now, or should I take the baby elsewhere and protect her eyes?” Allison cuts in sweetly, smirking at Derek.

Derek huffs, rolling his eyes, “I think I’ll be able to contain myself, thank you.”

“Ha, still got it,” Stiles preens, throwing on a slightly cleaner shirt from the line they have across the utility room.

“Oh, really? When did you get it in the first place?” Allison asks innocently.

Stiles narrows his eyes at her, lights the candles on the cake and glowers over the top of them.

“If my kid wasn’t looking,” he says in a dark voice.

“You’d what? Show me when you got it?”

“I’m not entirely sure I like the tone of this conversation,” Derek huffs, standing immediately behind Stiles, and both Stiles and Allison crack up.

“Don’t worry, baby, you know you’re the only one for me,” Stiles coos at him.

“The only one that’d put up with you,” Derek mutters, readjusting Leah’s new dress and kissing her tiny hand.

Stiles is willing to admit it’s not just the candles that melt a little.

Shut up, it’s Derek kissing their daughter’s hand—it’s literally built in to his being to find it adorable.

*

Derek lets himself into the house, the noise of Jamie pretending to be a pilot from his bedroom, of Stiles tapping away on his keyboard, murmuring agreements to Leah’s nonsensical sounds washing over him, and feels the weight of his day fall off his shoulders.

“Hey,” he calls up the stairs, “All good?”

“’Course,” Stiles says easily, “We’ve all been waitin’ up for you, bee-lov-ed. Can you say that?” he adds to Leah, “Bee? Like a buzzy bee? You want that to be your first word?”

Leah crows slightly, and Derek grins to himself, padding through the living room and flicking the television off—Stiles is terrible at leaving it on when he exits a room—and throwing all of Jamie’s toys in his trunk.

“We’ve had a pretty quiet day,” Stiles continues to Derek, still downstairs but able to hear easily, “Boyd and Erica wanna have lunch Sunday, by the way, did Erica call you?”

“Yeah,” Derek shouts, knocking off the light and moving into the kitchen to grab something to eat, “Something about news?”

“Uh huh, think they’re gonna tell us they’re getting’ broody. I bet you’d like that,” Stiles addresses Leah again, “Someone younger than you to boss around. I boss your daddy around all the time, though, and he’s way, _way_ older than me.”

Derek snorts, opens the fridge. There’s a plate of cold beef and vegetables inside, a post it note with a heart scrawled across it on the top.

“You got your dinner?” Derek snaps the fridge shut, and listens to Stiles roll across the bed, pull Leah onto his chest, the thump thump of their hearts beating close together soothing to Derek’s ears. “Hurry uuup, my feet are gettin’ cold, and Leah might not remember you in a minute—she needs to see your handsome face every once in a while, and so do I.”

“So demanding,” Derek huffs as he heads up the stairs, tugging off the saran wrap over his dinner and chewing on a piece of beef. He nudges open Jamie’s door, peeks inside.

Jamie leaps off the bed and flies at him making plane noises, “Dad!”

“Hey kid,” he lets Jamie clamber up onto his feet for a second, kisses the top of his head. “What you up to?”

“I’m flying to England!”

“All the way there, huh? You got enough fuel?”

“Yeah, and sandwiches!” Jamie’s face is bright and earnest as he looks up at him, “Can we go on a real plane one day, dad?”

“Uh,” Derek swallows around his beef, a thousand images of fireballs and the plane cracking in half and never seeing his kids again. “Uh, maybe?”

“Please! Casey says she and her mom went all the way to New York on a plane last year. And she was only six! I’m nearly seven!”

“Yeah,” Derek scratches his neck, crouches down to Jamie’s level, “You really—wanna be in one of those things, for a long time?”

“Yes! They’re amazing! Pleeease dad?”

“Sounds like he’s gonna win that argument,” Stiles calls from their bedroom, and Derek squeezes his eyes shut for a split second before smiling at Jamie.

“We can do anything you want, son. You wanna go anywhere in particular or—”

Before he can finish, Jamie’s screeching with happiness and vaulting towards the bed, leaping up and down on it excitedly.

“Hey, hey! Noise level, mister,” Derek points at the door, “Your sister’s still got pretty tiny ears.”

“Sorry,” Jamie whispers, and then adds another muted yay. Derek resists the urge to snort, his kid’s sure picking up on sarcasm fast. He doesn’t even wonder how.

“You got ten more minutes to play,” he tells Jamie, glancing at the clock, “Then bed time.”

“’Kay,” Jamie drops to sit on the bed, pulls a plastic aeroplane towards him and starts making it fly above his head.

Derek watches him for a beat, leaning against the door and marvelling at how fast Jamie’s growing up, and how much he loves him.

“Hey, when you’ve finished gazing lovingly at our boy, there’s still people you haven’t greeted waiting, loser,” Stiles calls out.

“You don’t know I was doing that,” Derek sniffs, ambling into the bedroom and unable to resist smiling when he sees Stiles and Leah all wrapped up in the bed covers.

Stiles grins lazily, hand resting on Leah’s back, “I figured once it went quiet you were done having your freak out about flying, and basking in the moment.”

“You know nothing,” Derek insists, putting his plate on the side table and crawling across the bed. “Hey,” he kisses Stiles, flops down on the pillow and lifts a hand to run through Leah’s curls. At nearly a year her dark hair’s getting long, but her eyes have stayed a light blue, like a cornflower field. Derek feels he’s not biased when he says she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

Okay, fine, he’s probably biased. Whatever, she _is_ beautiful.

She’s almost talking, too. Stiles is trying to get her to say something odd and original for her first word; Derek thinks it’ll probably be something like da, which was Jamie’s first word, or ‘tiles, which was another close contender. Stiles doesn’t say Derek’s name enough for her to pick up on it; he uses a wide variety of endearments— some of which remain just for their ears— and some his daughter could _definitely_ hear more often than his name. He hopes her first direct word to him isn’t _loser_ or _honeybunch_.

“So,” Stiles twists in place, scratches his nose, lets Leah fit between them and wiggles his eyebrows at Derek. “How was your day, dear?”

Derek hunches up a shoulder, watching Leah’s eyelashes flutter in sleep, “Long.”

“How come?” Stiles’ face darkens, “Was that douche from the third floor giving you crap about storage space again? Because if he was—”

“You’ll do nothing,” Derek says fondly, “As the next _Sheriff_.”

“Don’t,” Stiles kicks his shin under the blanket, “You’ll jinx it.”

Derek snorts, “As if there’s anyone more qualified, or better for the job than you.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow, “I dunno, you were getting along pretty well with Parrish at the Christmas party last year.”

Derek can’t help but smirk, “Jealous still?”

“No! And I wasn’t then, either.”

“So, you manhandling me into your office and leaving a hickey on my neck the size of Texas was just… spur of the moment.”

“ _Yes_ , I happen to have quite the crush on you, you know.”

Derek looks between their daughter, Stiles and then pointedly at where Stiles’ hand is drifting across his stomach, “I had no idea.”

“Hey, if you don’t want me showin’ you how I feel I can always—” Stiles begins to retract his hand and Derek catches his wrist, holds him still.

“I like it when you get jealous,” he says firmly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, thinking of how much he does like it, of how he sort of relishes Stiles’ ridiculous possessiveness considering Derek’s been fiercely in love with him for more than a decade. He likes that Stiles’ mannerisms, when it comes to Derek and his family, are remarkably wolf like. The strong sense of belonging he has when he thinks about Stiles and their life together has been his anchor for a long time. He really doesn’t mind Stiles reminding him it exists.

“Mmmm,” Stiles looks at him for a moment and then grins slyly, “Go put the baby to bed. Quickly,” he adds in a trembling voice, “Real quick.”

“Try to contain yourself,” Derek teases as he picks Leah up carefully, she fists a tiny hand in his sweater and clings tightly. “I don’t want to come back and have missed the show.”

“We’re getting into dangerous territory around the kid, Derek,” Stiles groans, “Go, be daddy for a min and then come be _mine_.”

“I’m both all the time,” Derek points out.

Stiles makes a strangled noise and rolls out of bed, shutting the bathroom door behind him as quietly as possible.

Derek wiggles his eyebrows at Leah, “He’s a dumb, right?”

Leah makes a sleepy noise of agreement.

*

“Yeah, baby you got this! Hit it real good. Hit it harder than you’ve ever hit it before!”

Derek lifts an eyebrow at him across the grass and Stiles smirks, waves both his hands in the air. “I’m being your cheerleader. Later, after you win I’ma let you feel me up in the back of your car, so long as you tell me I’m special and that you don’t normally do this.”

Jackson makes a pained noise, and Scott pinches the bridge of his nose from where he’s examining a mole hill with Jamie. “Stiles!”

Stiles shrugs. “What? It’s not like he’s going to say no to putting his hands on these babies. Jay’s not even listening, whereas Hale there…” He wiggles his legs around, and Derek’s eyes follow them, hypnotized.

“Derek!” Jackson gives him a second warning before tossing the ball, and Stiles fears for Derek’s general safety when his head snaps round, and he’s hitting the ball with a resounding crack. It arcs gracefully into the air, soaring to where Isaac’s been lingering far out. He leaps, barely brushes the ball, and it sails past him and towards the kids playground.

“Nice,” Stiles crows. “My man got gaaaame.”

Derek finishes his casual jog round the hoodies and jackets they’re using as posts, and kisses Stiles triumphantly.

Jackson kicks at dirt in frustration.

It’s one of those gorgeous summer afternoons, sunny and fresh. They don’t normally play games like this; anything that gets Jackson and Scott on opposing sides leads to a huge amount of competitiveness, Allison and Stiles trying to play peacemakers, and more often than not, pouting and hurt feelings. But, the children are running around the grass, Leah trying to clamber up Stiles’ shirt with her new found ability to grip things, and everyone’s seemingly pretty chill. It’s a good day for baseball.

Derek _loves_ baseball. He doesn’t profess to loving a lot of things; any program narrated by David Attenborough, an ice cold Corona, sweet chilli dressing, Stiles, his kids, things he keeps to himself mostly. Over the years they’ve been together Stiles has mentally compiled a list of things that make Derek’s face soften, make the line of his shoulders relax, his mouth almost curve into a smile, (proper smiles are reserved for when one of his pack does something particularly brilliant; when Stiles is saying dumb, ridiculously affectionate things to him at four in the morning; or one of the children smiles, or says something, _or_ breathes). But when Derek plays baseball he looks like your average teenager again. He _laughs_ ; he tosses water bottles at Scott’s head; if they’re drinking beer and playing, Lydia will hit the ball and then Derek will carry her round the field. Sometimes, the kids’ll chase him and tackle him down one of the banks, and Derek _lets_ them.

It’s nice.

Amazingly, Derek never cares if he wins or loses. He cares more about winning at scrabble, and monopoly, and oddly, Mario carts. On the baseball pitch he just looks like he’s having the time of his life.

As soon as Allison had called early in the morning complaining Scott and Alex were climbing the walls and driving her mad, Stiles had suggested a baseball game. Derek had practically leapt out of bed, and taken the fastest shower known to man, even waking and dressing the baby himself without argument. By the time Stiles was downstairs he’d made their breakfast, packed a lunch, and proceeded to hover over Stiles whilst he tried to eat, tsking every few seconds that Stiles was being slow on purpose.

He was.

It was hilarious. Jamie was giggling conspiratorially beside him, helping Stiles recut the sandwiches Derek had made into tiny, perfect triangles.

“Erica, you’re up,” Jackson snaps, squinting and miming imaginary pitches as she moves to the plate.

“Are you enjoying pitching to Danny?” Erica coos.

Jackson opens his mouth to retort as Danny scoffs behind her. “Baseball innuendos, nice, no one has ever thought of those before, ever.”

Erica twists to scowl at him as over by third Ethan cracks up and smiles fondly at Danny.

“Get a room,” Stiles hollars.

Ethan looks pointedly at where Derek’s hand has found a resting point high on Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles shrugs. “I’m not gonna tell him to stop.”

Derek pats his leg amiably, eyes still on the game, and Stiles continues in his quest to make a crown of daisies for Leah, who is gently kicking her tiny feet in the air, oblivious to all. Derek’s gaze flicks down to her, and his whole face softens as he runs a finger along the sole of her foot, and she kicks up at him excitedly.

In the background, Erica hits the ball straight to Boyd, who pretends he can’t catch, and she shrieks in victory as she makes it home.

“Come on!” Jackson yells. “You’re not even on her team.”

“I’m always on her team,” Boyd says with a shrug, catching Erica easily when she tackles him for a hug.

“This sucks.”

Stiles opens his mouth, and Derek squeezes his thigh without even looking at him. “Too easy,” he mutters. Stiles sniffs, but stays quiet.

“You in, Stilinski?”

Stiles stretches back on the grass feeling lazy, aware of Derek’s heated gaze on his skin where his shirt rides up. He’s _so_ getting some later.

“Nah, can’t be bothered. You bat for me, baby.”

“Lazy bones,” Derek huffs, standing nonetheless and brushing grass off his shorts.

“Oh, you missed some,” Stiles reaches up to swat at Derek’s ass. “And here, oh and here, damn this grass sticks—”

Derek rolls his eyes, smirking, at him. “You done?”

“Yep, just—” Stiles gives him an extra pat for good luck and then flops back onto the grass, watching him go.

“Dad!” Jamie runs across the field from where he and Scott have been investigating, and Derek sweeps him up on his hip.

“You catch some moles?”

“No, Uncle Scott says they’re all asleep! Can I bat?”

“Sure you can,” Derek dips Jamie so he can tap the bat on the base, and beams as Jackson looks torn between not wanting to hurt Jamie with a sharp throw, and losing to Derek’s team.

“Sophie’s choice,” Stiles sing songs, and Jackson flips him off.

“Throw already, we’re gettin’ old over here,” Boyd yells, Erica still sitting on his back.

“Don’t rush me!” Jackson shrieks.

Lydia tugs Leah into her lap, starts playing with her hair. “I think maybe I do want one,” she says suddenly, and Jackson’s pitch flies miles past Danny and across to the athletic turf. “Kidding,” she calls brightly. Jackson huffs and jogs to retrieve the ball, Lydia smirks as she watches him go.

“It is _so_ fun to mess with him.”

Stiles flops onto his back, lets Leah grab his cheek and tug, “You thinkin’ about settlin’ down, though?”

Lydia shrugs, eyes still on Jackson, “’m not really the domestic sort.”

“Neither was Derek,” Stiles points out.

“Oh, no,” Lydia shakes her head, “He most definitely was, he just didn’t want anyone to know, until someone came along to give him the right _incentive_.”

Jamie and Derek are jogging to second, Jackson yelling about those not being the rules—all love and loyalty lost as he accepts defeat—and they’re laughing together. The sun’s behind them, their eyes bright and their faces happy. Stiles feels his insides clench with love.

“Yeah, I guess we got pretty lucky.”

Lydia smiles softly, twines the end of the daisy chain together and and places it on Stiles’ head. “Perfect.”

He grins dopily at her, scrunches his nose up when Derek collapses behind him and digs his sweaty face into the back of his neck. “ _You_ are gross.”

“You look like a princess,” Derek retorts.

“Hell yeah I do. You can be my Prince Charming and do the honorable thing which FYI is to carry me all the way home.” Stiles sits up to stick the crown on Derek’s head, instead. “Such a handsome King of the daisies.”

He’s pretty sure he only gets away with it because Jamie starts laughing raucously. Derek begins tickling him until he’s breathless and kicking, and Stiles stands with Leah.

“Alright, come on my princes and princesses, and _King_ ,” he adds to Derek with a wink, “’S’go home to our kingdom.”


End file.
